


hotter than a june kiss

by hamiltrashed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton as your favorite horny motherfucker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hook-Up, Lafayette as your neighborhood weed dealer, M/M, Marijuana, Party, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pride, Stoned Sex, That's it, Thomas Jefferson as your local cocky top, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22650088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: Lafayette talks Hamilton into attending a post-Pride party at the loft of one of his friends whom Hamilton has yet to meet. Luckily Lafayette is there with some encouraging words and damn good weed to help Hamilton and Jefferson make one another's acquaintance.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 222
Collections: Hamilton





	hotter than a june kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, okay. So this is not part of my alphabetical series, but I felt the need to finally finish and post it after listening to the song “Eloise” by Penny and Sparrow like 48 times a day for the last like two months, y’all should really [hear it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d9cZllRa4w). I’ve literally been writing this since June, Pride month, of last year and is really just an excuse to write stoned hamjeffs sex, okay, thank u for being here.
> 
> Also just for reference, the strain of weed featured in this fic does actually have the reputation that inspired me to use it in writing this, but is not one I've ever smoked. This is unbeta'd but mostly decent, I think.

**_hotter than a june kiss_ **

**_i’m blushing the shade of licorice_ **

**_croon with your night lungs_ **

**_that old cicada love song_ **

**_holy broken heart_ **

**_a meaning-well american abattoir_ **

**_“eloise” / penny & sparrow_ **

****

The party is in full swing when Lafayette arrives. Alex clocks him the second he walks through the door, the first time tonight he’s managed to drag his eyes away from the man lounging against the wall across the loft. He’s the host of this party, and it’s to him that Lafayette moves first, him that Lafayette embraces and offers double cheek kisses to like they’ve known each other a long time.

Strange that Lafayette has never mentioned him before, this obviously close friend of his who can’t possibly be a man because it’s quite clear to Alex he’s actually a god. All Alex was told by Laf was to show up, that he shouldn’t miss this night, an after-Pride party for the ages. So Alex had worn the best of his shitty button-downs, made his way past Brooklyn’s hipster bakeries and gringo-run taco joints, all of them decked out in rainbows, to sit on a barstool at the kitchen island in the loft of a man he doesn’t know but probably would sell a kidney to fuck, just once.

Alex can’t get an idea of what they’re saying from here, but Lafayette throws his head back and laughs; his friend playfully punches him in the arm, smiling and rolling his eyes. But then he nods, claps Lafayette on the shoulder, and Lafayette goes to work. 

It would be a shame to call Lafayette a dealer, though effectively, that’s what he is. He’s really an artist, the way moves through the mass of dancing, writhing, grinding bodies like a tornado, here a little product, there a little product. Samples of his best strains are pressed into hands, into pockets, and he is paid tonight in adoration, no cash needed. He is the eye of his own storm, a length of rainbow ribbon tying his hair back, skin tight jeans inviting every eye to his hips, and if Alex hadn’t already made a fool of himself chasing Lafayette before they had become friends, he might try again now. 

Truthfully, Laf is not his type. Not really. He has the bright, vibrating energy that Alex wants in a partner, but is far too unable to turn it off. On a night like this, however, he’s the perfect best friend, dragging Alex out of his own apartment and out of his shell because, as he’d said earlier in a text, _you’ll only get so many chances._

As another song with pounding bass stampedes through the speakers, Lafayette makes his way over to Alex. He yanks him into a hug, and Alex smiles against Lafayette’s shoulder as Laf kisses his forehead. “ _Mon ami_ ,” he says fondly, and Alex pulls back, careful to look at Lafayette and not across the room at his friend, where he knows the stranger’s eyes are on the two of them. He can feel it.

“Who is _he_?” Alex asks pointedly. “And where the hell has he been all my life?”

Laf grins. “He’s a Southerner,” he says, shaking his head with pretend disgust. “He’s of the devil. You don’t want him.”

“The fuck I don’t,” Alex mutters, chances a look over Laf’s shoulder only to blush and look away when his friend’s eyes are looking right back. “Where have you been hiding him?”

“Thomas only just came back from an extended stay in France,” Lafayette says. “I thought he was going back to Virginia, but he says his creativity was stifled there or whatever, you writer types are so dramatic. I think he just wants a little more New York muse, if you know what I mean."

Alex sighs. “I’ll be his muse,” he says at once.

“Won’t you just,” Lafayette laughs. “Why don’t you go and chat him up, my little lion? I gave him something special. You could smoke together. Laugh together. Romantic shit.

“You set me up, you fucker,” Alex says. “I could kill you.” He kisses Laf’s cheek again instead.

“Oh no,” Laf says mockingly, a twinkle in his eye, “a terrifying short man!”

Alex yanks the end of Laf’s hair for good measure as he returns to work the crowd, then downs the rest of his drink and hops off the barstool. He’s steady on his feet, not as tipsy as he thought he might be, but when he looks back toward the other side of the room where Thomas – he has a name now – was standing, he’s gone. 

So it looks a little desperate now, wandering through the crowd, asking people who look like they belong here, “Seen Thomas?” or “Know where the host went?” He hopes his motivations can’t be read on his face, or maybe it doesn’t matter if they can, seeing as everyone here would have to be dead _not_ to want to sleep with Thomas. Still, Alex’s competitive streak has been triggered, and even though he can tell Thomas isn’t the type of man to be won, he just can’t help but try.

Eventually, someone points him toward an open window, a fire escape, and Alex understands. The roof. He climbs up slowly, carefully, and when he makes it to the top, Thomas is seated against the locked roof door, under the security lights, and has already rolled a joint with what Lafayette gave him. It’s been a while since he’s smoked, and there’s a strange, adolescent fluttering in his belly as if Alex is about to be caught by his mom with an eighth in his pocket, but then again, that could just be the vibe here, on a roof with a gorgeous man he doesn’t know but definitely wants to. 

“So you’re Alexander,” Thomas says, looking up at him, easy smile at one corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m at a disadvantage, then. Lafayette has told me next to nothing about you. I’m stunned, really.” Alex crosses to where Thomas is sitting, sits down cross-legged in front of him, gets a good look at honest brown eyes that he could fall into. “So what is it you’ve heard?”

Thomas quirks an eyebrow. “I’ve heard you’re ambitious beyond reason, talk more than you should and louder than anyone else, and give in to temptation far too easily.”

Alex waves a hand dismissively, but then shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose that’s all true enough.”

“Good,” Thomas says, obviously pleased with his candor. “Then can I tempt you?”  
  
He holds the joint aloft like a little unburnt candle, a lighter resting on his knee, a look in his eyes that could frankly tempt Alex to commit a bank robbery with him. 

“Oh, one hundred percent.” 

There’s something striking and profoundly intimate about the way Thomas reaches out his hand to place the joint between Alex’s lips, but Alex doesn’t have time to ruminate on that before the lighter sparks to life in front of him. The inhale is smooth, the smell of the burn like gasoline, and Alex feels as though he’s being studied, watches Thomas watching him before passing off the joint and letting smoke stream from his mouth in one long, heavy breath.

Thomas doesn’t say anything; there’s a look in his eyes someone else might call dangerous, but Alex would call exciting. Thomas coughs a little on the first hit before going immediately for the second, and Alex leans closer, can’t stop himself from wanting to feel the smoke against his face. 

Alex laughs when Thomas hands back the joint, shaking his head, clearly already feeling the effects after the drinks he’d had downstairs. “This smells fucking awful,”Alex says, before bringing it back to his lips, his second hit slower, inhaling longer. 

“It’s Sour Diesel,” Thomas says, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “It smells like shit. But as Lafayette tells me, it has its perks.”  
  
Alex grunts, murmuring “Oh?” as he exhales. 

“Mm. Soon. You’ll see,” Thomas tells him, scooting closer to Alex, placing one hand on his thigh, fingers gripping in a way that says he’s already claimed something from Alex. “Here, shotgun me.”

Alex shivers, and god, all he wants just now is to keep getting higher, in far more ways than one. He inhales the deepest yet on his third hit, passing off the joint and placing his hands on Thomas’s cheeks, leaning in press his mouth to Thomas’s. He’d moan if he could, but just now he’s a little busy letting the smoke drift away between his open lips, into Thomas’s mouth, Thomas’s inhale strong, coaxing the smoke down into his own lungs. 

Alex pulls away slowly, lets his hands drop to his sides though Thomas’s hasn’t moved from his thigh. “Fuck,” he says. He feels himself tipping backward just a little, and he lets his body relax, lying back across the tarred roof, staring up at a moody black sky.

Three hits in, and yeah, now he’s starting to feel too warm in the sweltering summer air. But something else is there, too, and Thomas’s voice is in his dizzy head saying _you’ll see, you’ll see, you’ll see._ And yes, Alex sees. His body feels alive, electric, the feeling only barely tempered by a subtle, heady euphoria. It takes a moment for him to figure it out, but by then he’s already too high to have the good grace for shame. 

He’s horny, that’s what it is, and astoundingly so; half-hard, belly tight with arousal, spine tense and taut, every muscle in his legs fighting against the urge to buck his hips up for no good goddamn reason except that he wants friction and nobody’s given him any. Not just yet, anyway. Common sense tells him not to do the thing he suddenly aches to do, which is to shove a hand into his pants and take care of his abrupt need for a mind-bendingly good orgasm. Instead, he turns his head to the left, finds Thomas lying next to him now, licking his lips, all slow and teasing though he doesn’t seem to mean it to be, breathing softly but heavily at the same time.   
  
Alex fondly remembers a smoke session or two ending with his hand around his cock, but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt like this. Whatever this strain is that Laf had given them, it’s a purposeful choice, meant to encourage what Alex suddenly knows is about to happen. God bless Pride, god bless Lafayette, and god bless Thomas’s hands, which are both on him now, unexpected and quick as he rolls over to straddle Alex, unbuttoning his shirt, knuckles brushing across the bare skin underneath. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Alex breathes out, his voice already a harsh little whisper. His fingers scrabble at the rooftop, nothing to grab so he clenches his fists, can practically feel in his veins every thrum of the bass from the reggaeton playing somewhere down on the street, that and Thomas’s touch which is exquisitely good. What’s left of the joint has gone out now, lies forgotten a foot away, its job done. Alex silently thanks its extinguished little flame for the things about to come.

Thomas’s mouth is everywhere once Alex’s shirt is open. Down his neck, nipping at his collarbone with his teeth, sucking at his nipples, kissing over his stomach. “Fuck,” Alex whines, his hips jerking. “Fuck, please --”

“Oh, we’re gonna fuck,” Thomas promises. “Don’t you worry.”

Alex laughs, and the high is so good, the hazy intoxication of it, but the pleasure too is intoxicating, and his whole body is absolutely buzzing. Thomas’s hands are like two stuttering little hummingbirds, shaky and fast, popping the button open his jeans, tugging down his fly, pulling both them and his boxers down around his thighs. Alex moans at the feeling of the warm, damp air on every part of him, has no time to focus on it before Thomas has his cock down his throat, and oh _god_ , it’s good. The way he goes all the way down, the way he comes back up and flicks his tongue, the way he pulls away and rubs his thumb down at the base of Alex’s cock, then just under the head.

“Oh my god, your fucking mouth, your hands,” Alex gasps. One of his hands works its way into Thomas’s curls and Thomas looks up at him through lowered lids, long eyelashes.  
  
“I’m very good with them,” Thomas boasts, his laugh a low, dark thing that only serves to heighten Alex’s desire for him. “I guess Gilbert should have told you more about me.”

“It’s okay, I’m more of a hands on learner,” Alex murmurs, demonstrating by reaching up to yank Thomas’s shirt over his head. He stares shamelessly; there’s nowhere on Thomas that isn’t made of muscle, and Alex spares a thought for how good it would be to be pinned against a wall, a mattress, any given surface by those fucking arms. And god, if that isn’t going to be a _thing_ now.

“Something grab your attention?” Thomas asks, his tone and his smirk the kind of playful that Alex would find annoying if Thomas hadn’t earned the right to it merely by existing. 

“Something,” Alex agrees. “Couldn’t say what.” He lets his hands wander the planes of Thomas’s abdomen, the curve of his hips, over his biceps.

Another chest-deep laugh from Thomas, who is glassy-eyed but still focused, now intent on fully undressing Alex. Alex manages to kick off his shoes and Thomas helps him out of the rest of his clothing until he’s lying there bared to the world and not caring a bit about how very public this all is. Sober, he would balk. Stoned, he considers how much of a show this will be if anyone finds them or sees them, and he delights in the idea. It’s Pride, after all. He feels alive.

Alex almost opens his mouth to express his excitement at the whole thing, but just then Thomas returns to pressing wet kisses between his thighs, and Alex is reduced instead to a quivering mess with no chance of expressing coherent language. Thomas’s lips hardly leave his body as he finally wriggles out of his own jeans, which given their tightness, Alex would consider an incredible feat to have achieved _not_ high let alone in their current state.  
  
“How thoughtful,” Alex says weakly as he gets his first glimpse of what’s in Thomas’s pants. “No extra layers.” He might be salivating if his mouth weren’t too dry, his voice rough both with the dehydration and his surprise at Thomas’s lack of underwear.

“I like my freedoms,” Thomas tells him, crawling back along Alex’s body until he’s hovering just above him, an inch closer and they’d be kissing again.  
  
“Fuck, I like your freedoms, too,” Alex says with a laugh. He reaches one hand down between them, lets his fingers curl around Thomas’s length, isn’t sure whether it’s him that moans or Thomas. His grip is tight, but his stroke is slow, and Thomas shudders, only just restraining himself from rocking his hips forward.

“Oh, so you’re that kind of man,” Thomas notes with an unholy little gasp, biting his lip hard, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again to look at Alex.

“Hmm?” Alex asks, as if he doesn’t already know.  
  
“A tease,” Thomas clarifies. “You’re a goddamn tease, aren’t you, Alexander Hamilton?”

Alex leans up, presses a slow, drawn out kiss against Thomas’s mouth. His hand moves slowly on Thomas still, and when he pulls away, he smiles. “Maybe a little. Now are you gonna fuck me with all that you got goin’ on down here, or do I have to beg?”

“Wouldn’t hate it if you did,” Thomas says, but he moves away reluctantly to reach for his jeans, hand dipping into the pocket and pulling out a fistful of condoms, a little bottle of lube. “Lucky I thought to raid my own bedroom before coming up here.”

“Love a man prepared for anything, like a Boy Scout,” Alex laughs, and the high is making him giddy now, too. He feels the urge to break down in hysterics in almost equal measure as he feels the urge to have Thomas in him, right damn now. 

Thomas laughs too, hiccupped little giggles, but that doesn’t last long when he slicks up two fingers and works both of them into Alex at once. Alex swallows a desperate moan, Thomas answers it with a gasp of his own, his eyes wide and watchful. It might have been a little painful under other circumstances, but not tonight, not right now. All Alex can feel is the sweet pressure of it, and the immediate need for more. He can feel his heart racing, little goosebumps breaking out over his flushed skin, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. And Alex has written many things in his life, knows maybe the whole fucking dictionary almost by heart, but he doesn’t have words for this. Not a single one that describes how exquisite it feels when Thomas curls his fingers deep inside him, touches that one real good spot that Alex always seeks out and can never quite get to himself.   
  
“ _Shitshitshit,”_ Alex says in lieu of anything more eloquent to say, that and _fuck_ and _please_ , the names of God and several saints. 

Thomas doesn’t seem to mind that Alex can’t get much out beyond four letter words. In fact, he appears to take pride in it. And Alex always has always gotten the munchies when he’s high, but he’s hungry for something else now, desperate in a way he probably shouldn’t be with a man he’s only just met, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. He rocks his hips up, up, up until he’s nearly riding Thomas’s hand, until Thomas is moaning at the sight of it, until he can’t take it anymore either, and he says in a quiet huff of breath, “Okay, okay, gonna fuck you now,” like he forgot that was the whole idea in the first place.

He slides his fingers free and Alex whimpers, but he doesn’t have to wait long before Thomas is pressing into him with shaking hips, one quick, easy thrust that quite literally drives home just how fucking big he is. And Christ, Alex has never been a size queen but he might be now, might be ruined by this, the way he opens too easily for Thomas, the way his body arches up out of sheer need, and he’s already begging on the first thrust. 

His legs go around Thomas’s waist; he locks them there, tight, tries to pull him deeper and whines when he can’t because there’s nowhere for him to go, he’s already balls fucking deep and it’s like this itch Alex can’t scratch, this sudden, explicit desire to absorb Thomas into himself completely. Or maybe it’s just that he’s crossfaded as shit. Either way, Alex doesn’t remember the last time it was this good, this hot, the last time he felt this full and still so hellishly needy.

“You feel so good,” Thomas gasps, leaning forward into his next thrust, mouth against Alex’s neck, marking him with the barest edge of his teeth, with bruising kisses. Thomas’s whole body is trembling now, not just his hands, his shoulders rolling with a shudder, his hips snapping forward, rough, no real rhythm. Every angle he hits is better than the last, and Alex's body moves to meet him every time, aching for it, head swimming but still laser-focused on the heat between his legs, the heat _everywhere._

“Faster,” is all Alex can think to reply, because he’ll definitely die at this pace, and even though he doesn’t want it to end, he needs it harder, _faster_ , unsure that he’s ever needed it at all this bad before. But Thomas obliges him, seems not to mind the demand, seems not to mind that Alex is all the things Gilbert said he was -- loud, uninhibited, ambitious even in this. Alex tries to resist the urge to wriggle a hand between them and give himself some relief, but he can’t help himself. Before he gets his hand around his cock, though, Thomas knocks it away, wraps one of his own big hands around him. “My job,” he says firmly, and who the hell is Alex to argue with that? Alex has never fucked a single man who claimed it as their _job_ to make him come; he wonders if it’s too early to propose marriage. 

His laughter at the thought ends on a whine when Thomas starts stroking him at the same punishing pace as his fucks him. Alex can’t decide whether to push back on him or rock upward into the tightness his fist; he settles for a little of both until he’s squirming beneath Thomas. “You’re gonna make me come soon,” he warns, his voice sounding unexpectedly frenzied to his own ears. It's barely been ten minutes and it's already nearly over and on a different day, Alex might be ashamed by the quickness of the whole thing, but here, with Thomas, he doesn't care. He's too high to care, and anyway, the weed makes every tiny sensation last for long minutes, hours, maybe weeks. Have they been up here for weeks? He rolls his hips up again. “Fuck, make me _come_.” 

Thomas’s one free arm shakes holding himself up. “God, that’s -- you’re so --” But what Alex is, he doesn't find out because Thomas too loses all recollection of how to form words. Alex catches the way his eyes roll back helplessly before they shut, and then he leans in again, bent across Alex’s body, his hand still moving over Alex’s cock between them, his thrusts still shaky. He presses fervent, sweet kisses against Alex’s chest, an animal sound rising at the back of his throat. It sounds deliciously wild, and Alex couldn’t possibly be more turned on than he already is, or that would do it. 

And Alex really is close now. It’s all too prolonged and not nearly long enough; he wants to lie up here and fuck recklessly and relentlessly all night, almost as much as he wants to come. His spine is tingling, that spot low in his belly is tense, and Thomas’s hand around him has him almost there, almost, almost. His breath catches almost painfully, he tries to moan and nothing comes out but hoarse little whimpers. There's a tense moment where everything seems to stop, where nothing seems to be moving, where there's no sound and he sees double for just a second, and then it all shatters apart, the same way that Alex himself shatters apart, a million million pieces of him scattered into space. He's not sure if he blacks out, it almost feels like that's what happens, but maybe it's just the stars he's seeing behind his eyelids. Then he's aware of Thomas pulling free of him, leaving him feeling actually bereft, aware of warmth across his hip, his thigh.

It's a long time before Alex finds the energy to open his eyes, which suddenly feel absurdly heavy. For the first time since he came up to the roof, Alex is really conscious of the revelry in the streets below, beyond just the loud music. It's cheery voices and the distant snapping of firecrackers and drag queens and queer neighbors all dancing together in the dark. Not all that different from what just took place here on the roof. Alex would dance with Thomas any time. He feels the senseless urge to laugh again. Thomas is lying next to him, still breathing hard, and Alex reaches out, delirious, lays a hand on Thomas's chest, feels his heart pounding.

"Should we send Lafayette a gift basket?" he asks, and Thomas laughs breathlessly, curls his fingers around Alex's, holds his hand there to his chest.   
  
"Definitely," Thomas says. "Though, to be fair, even without his little present, I still would have done this."  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Yeah," Thomas confirms. There's another long moment when neither of them speak, and then Thomas, smirking and hazy-eyed and still holding Alex's hand, says, "So tell me all the things about you that Gilbert didn't cover."


End file.
